


evermore

by darkmillennium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Domestic Fluff, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, POV Adam Milligan, Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Post-Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Protective Michael, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, adam just fucking kiss him already omg what do you have to lose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmillennium/pseuds/darkmillennium
Summary: “Like—okay. We might have to help fight God sooner or later. Something—something bad might happen. Let’s just say I die—no, I’m not saying I’mgoingto die,” he says hastily, putting up a hand to stop Michael’s open mouth from launching into an overprotective rant, “but let’s just say something bad happens and I die and you don’t. And I can't...come back, or whatever. Will you remember me?”—Based on a tumblr prompt: “i don’t care if the world knows my name, i just want you to remember me” for midam
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 190





	evermore

**Author's Note:**

> this one was so much fun to write!

"So, there's other universes out there."

"Apparently."

"And there was some psycho version of you that came through to our universe and tried to murder everyone."

" _Apparently._ "

Adam pauses, blinks, and then—"Christ."

Michael rubs a hand across his apparition's face. "Tell me about it."

Adam throws a shit-eating grin over at him from where he's laying upside-down on his motel bed. "I just did."

The archangel in question rolls his eyes and does a terrible job of hiding a smile, to which Adam gives a _real_ grin. 

They're somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, at some random motel that Michael had found easily enough because Adam had actually wanted to try and sleep tonight. Which, given that it's 2:47 in the morning, probably won't be happening. 

It's fine, though, because it means Adam gets to introduce Michael to the art of having stupid discussions after dark. It's a very important human tradition, in Adam's opinion, and he's the guide so Michael _has_ to listen to him concerning human topics.

"I wonder what happened in the other universe that made you like that. Or maybe that version of you was just made with a screw loose or something? Seemed like a knockoff of Lucifer to me."

Silence, and then—"What? I'm _right_."

He huffs. "Yes, but he _was_ still my brother."

"Fair enough. I’m sorry.”  
  
Michael tips his head in acknowledgement, and then looks out the window beside his chair. Adam sends a flash of a question across their bond, almost like tapping out Morse code on a table. A silent _You okay?_ that only the two of them could hear, could _understand,_ even, because at this point Adam’s mind probably isn’t interpretable to anyone else; he’s been thinking like someone much older for far too long.  
  
Michael glances at him, softening a bit as he sends back his own flash, a content _yes_ that has Adam relaxing. He hadn’t wanted to upset him by mentioning Lucifer or anything.  
  
“Maybe he wanted the recognition for ending the world or something, y’know. He found out that your dad walked out on him and he took it the worst way possible. Or something.” Adam has no idea. That other Michael had died before he and _his_ Michael had come out of the Cage, and Adam’s only an expert on one of them.  
  
The archangel smiles, just a little, as if to himself. He’s still looking out the window. “He didn’t have a guide.”  
  
That makes Adam pause, fighting a mixture of butterflies, pleased lightheartedness and slight embarrassment down his throat in order to reply, “No one to teach him how to work a TV, huh?”  
  
Michael’s eyes are on him now, twinkling with mirth. “Or a microwave.”  
  
Adam snorts and maneuvers himself into a more reasonable sitting position on top of the bed that won’t have his blood rushing to his head. “You don’t even _use_ the damn thing.”  
  
“It’s not my fault that everything you’ve introduced me to that’s microwaveable is so _unhealthy_ , Adam.”  
  
“Listen, _any_ food can be unhealthy if you eat enough of it. What if you choke on a radish or something?”  
  
Michael raises both eyebrows. “Heimlich maneuver.”  
  
Adam laughs. “I can’t _believe_ you know what that is.”  
  
“What else am I supposed to do on the Internet while you sleep?”  
  
They go back and forth for awhile, and if it weren’t for their surroundings and the sound of rain pattering outside the window then Adam might have thought that they were back in the Cage, just the two of them against the ever-biting chill of the dimensional space that sapped all sense of warmth from any being until they forgot the meaning of it completely. The room they were in now felt like an even, pleasant seventy degrees, though, and Adam wasn’t as afraid as he once might’ve been. He had no reason to be. Michael was here.  
  
Eventually, when the sun is beginning to peak over the horizon, they slip back into an old habit of theirs—asking each other random questions for no reason at all other than to hear the other’s voice.  
  
“What would you do,” Michael begins, pausing to most likely search his memory for a question they _haven’t_ asked each other at this point, “if you were...famous?” His voice ends on a hesitant note, with the concept of famosity, in the human sense, obviously being one he was unfamiliar with.   
  
“Wow, we’re really running out of things to ask, huh?” Adam chuckles, and then gets to thinking. “Shit. Well, I don’t know. Do you mean famous like Sam and Dean or famous like celebrities and stuff?”  
  
Michael makes a _so-so_ gesture with his head. “Either one.”  
  
“Okay. Well, for starters, I’d probably be one of those famous people that no one knows anything about. I wouldn’t want my personal info and stuff to get out into the world. I’d get a codename or something. Probably donate a lot, if I had money, because I don’t even know what I’d do with it if I was famous like a celebrity. I didn’t exactly grow up rich.” He’s migrated from the bed to the windowsill next to Michael, at this point, and he shrugs along with his final sentence.  
  
“Don’t famous humans usually want to be remembered? For things they did, and such?”  
  
“I guess so. I don’t really care about that. Maybe Sam and Dean do, and it’s part of why they do it; hell if I know. I’m just the illegitimate half-brother that next to nobody knows about, and I’m fine with that. The less people know about me, the better, y’know? It means neither of us get targeted all that much. It’s quieter.”  
  
Michael’s staring at him with that overwhelming amount of fondness, again, and Adam stares right back. If he reaches out within himself, right now, he would feel the sharp, powerful crackle of archangel grace nestled just by his soul. If he reaches out with his physical hand, he'd feel the skin of Michael's apparition, could lay his hand on the skin where the shoulder meets the neck of the body that's both his own and _not_ all at once. The thought makes his hand twitch.  
  
“Will you remember me?” He blurts out. He’s not even sure where it came from—he doesn’t remember thinking it.  
  
Michael cocks his head in that _way_ of his. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Like—okay. We might have to help fight God sooner or later. Something—something bad might happen. Let’s just say I die—no, I’m not saying I’m _going_ to die,” he says hastily, putting up a hand to stop Michael’s open mouth from launching into an overprotective rant, “but let’s just say something bad happens and I die and you don’t. And I can't...come back, or whatever. Will you remember me?”  
  
Michael’s lips are pressed in a thin, tight line, and Adam is suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of emotion that comes pouring across their bond.  
  
_Of course._ _  
_ _  
_ _Always._ _  
_ _  
_ _How could I not?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Please don’t say such things._ _  
_ _  
_ “Yes,” Michael says, aloud, and Adam nods sharply.  
  
“Alright. So that’s what I’d do if I was famous.”  
  
The archangel across from him is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “ _Die?_ ”  
  
“No! I’d want you to remember me. I don’t care if the world knows my name, I just want you to remember me.”  
  
He feels archangel grace curling around his soul, and he smiles. Michael’s face circles through a variety of emotions before finally settling on a mixture of sheer determination and something else that Adam can't name—something far older, far deeper, something that layers across his expression like a blanket and embeds itself in his grace like a sword, piercing through his heart with how _bottomless_ it is. 

Or, maybe, it's not that he can't name it. Maybe he's just a little too _afraid_ of putting a name to it, when the world is so close to potentially ending.

Michael locks eyes with him, blue meeting blue, and Adam doesn't think he could look away if he _tried_ , such is the hold Michael has over him. No magic required.

Fuck.  
  
“ _Forever_. I would remember you forever.”

Adam believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always much appreciated!!! have a great day :D
> 
> my tumblr is @adammilligan!


End file.
